


That Time In Colorado Springs

by Aj (aj2245)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Comment Fic, Episode Related, F/M, Friendship, Season 3 Spoilers, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aj2245/pseuds/Aj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not the last person she expects when she opens her apartment door, it's still a surprise</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Time In Colorado Springs

**Author's Note:**

> So. Miera was bored and I was in a Mood and somehow this devolved into porn. I’d call it a win! COMMENT FIC AHOY! Forgive the mistakes. Although, if you want to read them in their original format/posting you can do so [here](http://miera-c.livejournal.com/437262.html?thread=3043342#t3043342). Also, I randomly miss Little Red like the dickens.

He's not the last person she expects when she opens her apartment door, it's still a surprise. Especially on a Sunday morning with no prior notice at all that he was even in town. And considering the fact that she'd had to up her texting package because of John's chattiness, she feels validated in her surprise.

"Er. Hi?" She has to remind herself that there's no need to feel embarrassed by her ponytail and Snoopy t-shirt. It's _John_. He's seen her covered in shit, crying, and a hundred other humiliating things in-between. She should not feel self-conscious opening the door to him while in her cleaning cloths. "Did I miss a call?"

He's leaning in her door in the same way he used to come sit on her desk. It's that posture that keeps her from freaking out and demanding to know what's wrong. She knows his body language and right now it's saying "relaxed befuddlement". He'd wandered into her office in this mood enough times for her to recognize it.

Admittedly, before the forced Earth-relocation he'd only had to go a few levels to find her. Not a couple hundred miles.

"No." John wrinkles his brow and considers her. "It's a surprise."

"Oh." She blinks some more. This is extremely weird. "Not to be ungrateful-"

"Why haven't we had sex?"

She blinks again. "Are you drunk?"

"Not anymore." He sighs and scrubs a hand over the back of his neck and the little bump-bump of whatever that always showed up when he was within sightline ramped up to bump-BUMP. "No, I'm actually curious. Why haven't we had sex?"

"You're asking me this in my doorway?" She's pretty sure the incredulous look plastered across her face is one for the record books.

And then he's brushing by her, and it's a testament to the strange conversations they've had over the years that she lets him walk right by her without so much as a peep. She even closes the door behind her and is mid-turn, her mouth open and ready to ask just _how_ drunk Lorne had gotten him last night when her back is suddenly flat against her entryway wall. John's hands are hot and running under her Snoopy t-shirt before she can process the fact that his mouth is on hers and his tongue is in her mouth and _holy fucking god_ , why haven't they had sex?

Hands. _HANDS._ It's like her brain is running on an infinite loop with a few minor allowances for tongue and GOD.

She can taste the breath mint he popped earlier, a lingering sweetness that's a back beat to strong coffee. His hands are on her torso, exploring and running up and down in firm strokes and light touches that are driving her absolutely insane. Then his hands go higher, a finger brushing the sweet spot just under her left breast and she breaks the kiss on a moan.

He takes shameless advantage of her thrown back head to go straight for her neck, bringing his fingers back to scratch lightly at that horrible, evil, amazing patch of skin, and she'll probably be embarrassed about that screamed groan later, but she's entirely too busy seeing stars to care.

Her fingers end up in his hair and his lips and teeth are doing amazing things to the cords of her neck. And then it's not enough and she needs _skin_ because hers is too tight and too hot and itching like someone dumped breadcrumbs all over her.

The skin of his back is hot and smooth under her hands, when she finally gets the back of his t-shirt rucked up, and he groans and slams her just that much harder into the wall when she digs in her nails.

"Shit..." his breath hisses out across the wet skin of her neck and goddammit she's moaning again until he's kissing her and basically _fucking_ her mouth with his tongue. It's indescribable.

Her hands slip and lose strength because her brain has officially gone on vacation and her blood is relocating to her breasts and labia and other extremely interesting places, but she has enough presence of mind to shove them down the back of his jeans and just _squeeze_.

Somehow, he kisses her harder and then his hips are rocking and the seams of his jeans are pressing just so through the cotton of her pajama pants and she's pushing back and trying not to sob into his mouth while breathing through her nose. She's not going to stop this kiss. No fucking way.

She doesn't know how long they stay like that; pressed up against her wall, lower bodies rocking in an almost lazy way. Their mouths making up for that ease with a frantic duel that is anything beyond what she thought she was ever capable of.

She's had good sex before. She's had _excellent_ sex before. This is... something else.

And then everything in her gut and thighs tightens. Twists. She rips her hands out of his pants and clutches the shirt at his shoulders, rending and twisting the fabric and her head is back again and she's screaming with John's hands on her breasts and pelvis rocking and hitting everything just right.

She comes so hard the room dims a little around the edges, and _holy fucking god._

She doesn't pass out, but she does lose some time because when her brain settles down enough to approach coherence she's flat on her back in her unmade bed. John's staring down at her intently, over her but not on her and it takes a few seconds for the tense line of his jaw and the dull flush of his cheeks to register.

"Wha-?" She raises her hand and runs a shaky finger over the bridge of his nose and down over his lips. Changes so that it's her thumb running back and forth over his bruised lower lip.

"Why haven't we had sex yet?" His voice is rough and deep, like he's been smoking all night. The warm air puffs over her thumb and she shivers before locking eyes with him. _Seeing_.

"Because it wasn't today yet." Her voice is unsteady, but her eyes aren't.

Her pajama pants are off so quickly, she's surprised she doesn't have fabric burn later.

His body is heavier than hers. She knows this. She's known this, but it's only right now that she _knows_ it. His t-shirt is still on, as are his jeans, and it takes more coordination that she has to help him tug on fabric and try and undo zippers and push things away.

Her fingers brush the bones of his hips, trying to help, and the wounded sound he makes is enough to trigger an aftershock that's low and deep in her belly. She licks her lips and tries to refocus. The t-shirt comes off last and before it's even over his head, her fingers are ghosting over his ribs and nipples, his chest hair springy under the shocky nerves of her fingers.

John's eyes are darker than she's ever seen them and he catches her wrists before holding them out to her sides. She's not pinned or trapped in any way, but her arms are stretched out and she's open and visible to him. Her breasts bare in the morning sun coming through her window, and she rolls her hips and spreads her thighs because she can't _not_.

She _wants_.

And then he's there. Mouth pressed into the curve of her pelvis, just above her pubic hair. Teeth and tongue altering between laving and nipping and that floaty feeling intensifies. He bites her hip gently, maybe in retribution, and she half-squeaks, half-screams before bringing a hand up to work a breast, kneading and skimming. It's too much. It's so _much_.

"Goddamn."

She blinks, trying to focus on anything, on _him_ but she's so far gone that all she can do is whimper and claw at his shoulder and rub her breast and open her thighs and arch her back and-

"Oh, god, _please... John_."

He takes her hand, takes her fingers and brings them down to spread herself just that much more, for him. She does and gasps as she brushes her clit and she's so wet that her fingers slide and she's up to her knuckles in herself before she can even blink.

He pulls her hand away and out and she whimpers, a lot annoyed at the ephemeral touch. And then, his eyes never leaving hers, he puts her fingers into his mouth and just _sucks_.

Something vital in her breaks and she's pretty sure she screams, but she just. Can't. Look. Away.

She can't even say please anymore. Just curl her fingers in his mouth and _reach_ for him with the hand no longer on her breast. Grabs and pulls with no strength in her hand but more in her legs and he's groaning and crawling up her, letting his scratchy dark hair _drag_ against her, the tacky sweat on her body amplifying the friction.

There's a crinkle of plastic that's right and perfect and she some how is able to track his groan as he fists on the condom. The world clears up for a few precious seconds to let her grasp that this is happening. This is going to happen and this is _John_.

"Please," she manages to whisper. "Please."

And there he is. He's inside her and it hurts a little, but it hurts to see him at all because they're not home. They're not what they were, so they're _this_ and it's new and different and scary, but tinged with grief.

"J-j-uh-"

He settles his hips into hers, and then her thigh is over his hip and he just grinds against her. Little tiny movements that have her sobbing and blinking at the ceiling like she has no idea what it is and he's groaning and talking into her neck. She can't understand a word because everything around her is white noise; the ebb and flow of his cries counterpointed with her own so that she honestly can't tell what's her and what's him.

Her fingers on his back and his lips on her neck and he's staring at her again but she just can't do anything else than what's he's doing. Rock against him and beg for more _more **more**_.

And then his kissing her again, groaning into her and his hips are finally moving and he's pushing into her, hard and deep which is just more, but every time he bottoms how, he does that _grind_ again and the white noise is gone and she's just screaming.

She comes down to his body curled over hers and his fingers on her jaw. He's only a few inches away from her, so a piece of her hair is stuck to his cheek.

"Hi," he whispers. Smiles at her.

"Hi," she says back. She grins. "You're so allowed to surprise me at any time."

His laughter is loud in the bright room, and for the first time since she waved goodbye to her... their city, she feels warm.

-

They end up eating toast, mostly naked, in her breakfast nook. It's surprisingly normal given their current circumstances. It's not every day that you have athletic comfort sex - and Elizabeth wants to roll her eyes and smack her own forehead for even thinking that phrase - with your ex-military officer.

"We're really messed up, you know that right?" John's voice is all rough and growly, and if she weren't over-sensitized and in desperate need of a nap, she'd probably be all turned on.

"Yeah." She takes a bite of her toast and sucks some butter off her finger. "Because this isn't weird."

He nods and finishes his bread. "Do we want to have the whole regrets conversation?"

She blinks. Thinks about it. Finishes her own toast. "Not really. It was good sex."

He smirks at her but she's pretty sure it's automatic. She rolls her eyes at him. God, men never change.

"You don't say."

"John."

He laughs, catching himself on a yawn half way through. "Are you gonna kick me out, or can we go nap? You wore me out there."

Having no reason not to, and allowing herself to feel the ache of that gigantic _lack_ in their lives, she nods and stands up. His hand comes to rest at her hip and they both wander back to her bedroom.

"Pancakes later?" His voice and her laugh mingle and drift into the main room before she closes the door.

-fin-


End file.
